


Museums and Mistletoe

by goldenheadfreckledheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheadfreckledheart/pseuds/goldenheadfreckledheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke buys Bellamy a museum ticket for Christmas and he acts like it’s the best gift he’s ever received.</p><p>She buys one for herself too, because she knows none of their other friends have the time to go—finding a day they can all get together to exchange gifts is hard enough—and if it gets her an uninterrupted afternoon with her best friend and all around favorite asshole, she’s definitely not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Museums and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [bellarke.com](http://www.bellarke.com)'s Bellarke Christmas celebration.

Clarke buys Bellamy a museum ticket for Christmas and he acts like it’s the best gift he’s ever received.

She buys one for herself too, because she knows none of their other friends have the time to go—finding a day they can all get together to exchange gifts is hard enough—and if it gets her an uninterrupted afternoon with her best friend and all around favorite asshole, she’s definitely not complaining.

She actually gives him the tickets before Christmas, because she knows he’ll want to go as soon he has them, and she’s leaving for her mom’s place on the 26th.

Which, of course, she ends up having to explain when she insists on giving him an early present.

“You’re giving me these early so I don’t have go alone?”

“Going to museums by yourself is _sad_ , Bellamy.” And it sounds convincing, to her ears.

He looks hilariously offended, “It is not.”

She laughs.

“I could have taken someone else with me,” he says after a second. “You didn’t need to go out of your way.”

She puts her laptop down to glare at him a little, “Just like you didn’t go out of your way to attend all my art shows last year? Just like you don’t walk me home from the train station after work every day?”

Upon realizing he looks a little taken aback, she sighs.

“I don’t know why you’re being weird,” she says, deliberately calm, “Best friends go out of their way for each other. That’s how it works. Appreciate your damn present.”

It takes him a moment to respond, but when he does it’s with a laugh and a shake of the head as he pulls her closer on the couch, pressing his lips to her hair. “Thanks, Clarke.”

She doesn’t pretend not to lean into him. “Plus, no one else wants to go with you. You spend hours on a single exhibit.” She looks up at him in mock-horror, “ _hours_ , Bellamy.”

He shoves her, but he’s smiling.

* * *

He apparently doesn’t realize until the day they go that the featured exhibit is entirely on Greek landscapes.

“I love you,” he says, deadpan, when she points it out to him on the pamphlet.

It’s hard to keep her heart out of her throat when she manages a dry, “Yeah, the feeling’s mutual.”

A look of confusion flits across his face, but then he’s tugging her through the doors, where the museum, a magnificent recreated Roman villa, unfolds around them.

Bellamy looks like he wants to die of happiness every few seconds and it’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Seeing him happy isn’t necessarily a rare occurrence, not anymore. But when they’d first met, it was hard to imagine him being the excited, enthusiastic person she’s watching now, studying each painting with wonder in his eyes.

They met their senior year of university in a class on mythology and art, a course known for being an easy upper-div elective. Unluckily for their classmates, it encompassed both of their passions—his; mythology, hers; art—and they were a menace in that class, toward each other and their fellow students. She’s still pretty sure Kane only gave them A’s so they wouldn’t come heckle him about it in office hours.

After that, their lives were a series of groan-worthy coincidences. She knew his roommate, Miller, through Monty, her childhood friend, and his sister and her good friend Lincoln, a fellow art major, started dating a month after she and Bellamy graduated.

They began to hang out, grudgingly, when the group got together for movie nights, and once they loosened up, they realized that they’re both those assholes who can’t keep from poking fun at the most serious parts of a film. It’s surprisingly easy to become best friends after that.

Now her biggest worry is not making it _completely obvious_ that she’s been in love with him for the last six months.

And she’s doing alright, she thinks. Mostly she just constantly reminds herself that he’s her best friend. So much so that it sometimes slips into her sentences when she’s talking to him. He probably thinks she’s just more aggressive about being his best friend now.

Which is fine. She _is_ aggressive about being his best friend. That doesn’t mean she can’t want something else too.

But for now, she’s perfectly content to wander through the museum with him, argue with about the particular art style of this painting, about the historical accuracy of the next, and wonder aloud, occasionally, how she acquired such a nerd of a best friend.

“Shut up,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his, “You’re enjoying this just as much as I am.”

She rests her head against his arm, and doesn’t disagree.

It does take them a ridiculously long time to work through the exhibits, as expected, but eventually they make their way out into the gardens.

Where the museum hardly showed any sign of the holiday season, the grounds are a glittery wonderland, with lights strewn through the bushes and giant red bows affixed to nearly every tree.

“C’mon,” she says, taking his arm, “I want to walk around before it gets dark.”

They wander through the courtyard, Clarke taking pictures of exquisite flowers to send to Octavia, Bellamy pointing out architectural details here and there.

He’s telling her about the significance of the number of columns lining the grounds when a bored looking museum employee walks past them, points above their head, and says, “Mistletoe."

All she does for a second is stare up in betrayed horror at the leafy decoration hanging from the foliage covered scaffolding.

Before she can muster any response she catches Bellamy looking at her in something like concentration, and she’s about to emphasize—to the employee, and herself—that they’re just _best friends_ …when he lowers his mouth to hers, and kisses her deep.

She wants to be cautious, because there’s a very real possibility that this just for the sake of a silly holiday tradition, but when his hands come to rest at her waist, she’s lost, sliding a hand into his hair as she presses up on her tiptoes to kiss him back.

When they pull apart, they’re both breathing shallowly. And again, she’s careful to keep her heart from breaking, or their friendship from falling apart.

“That was a little intense for a mistletoe kiss, wasn’t it?” she teases, not quite meeting his eyes, “Most people just settle for a peck.”

If he wants to correct her, he can, she figures. She definitely won’t complain.

But because she’s looking at his feet, rather than him, she sees the exact moment he turns to walk away from her, mumbling a muffled, “Shit.”

“Bellamy? Bell,--hey!” she calls.

He stops just a few feet away, shoulders hunched in a way she knows means he’s upset.

“Hey,” she says again, soft, as she slides her fingers into his, squeezing his hand. He doesn’t turn, so she walks around him...and finds herself completely unprepared for the open expression of _hurt_ written across his face as he stares pointedly anywhere but her.

“Bellamy, what’s wrong?”

His response is so quiet, she’s not even sure he means to say it out loud.

“I was so fucking sure, for a second.”

She feels her heart beat faster in her chest. There’s something else there, too. Hope, maybe.

“You’re kind of a drama queen, you know?” she says slowly, smile forming on her face.

His head jerks toward her, presumably realizing that he _did_ say that out loud. The look he gives her is somewhere between embarrassment and questioning confusion. It’s not one she sees on him often, and it’s hard not to find adorable.

In lieu of responding, she reaches the hand that’s not holding his behind his neck, pulling him down a little so she can tip her head up and catch his bottom lip between hers, gentle and affectionate.

When he responds, it’s in earnest, grinning against her mouth before surging closer, tongue tracing her lips as his hand finds the sliver of skin between her jeans and sweater at the small of her back. She nearly mewls when he licks into her mouth, and she pulls her hand from his to toss her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him.

When she pulls back, it’s to rest her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the shallow space between them.

“I kind of thought I was falling alone here,” she says, barely more than a whisper, taking in the exhilarated flush under the freckles she loves so much

She feels the laugh that rumbles in his chest. “Octavia said I was painfully obvious.”

When finally lifts her eyes to meet his, she finds her favorite smile on his face, adoration in his eyes.

His grin falters a little when he says, “You were always adamant about _best friends_.”

She breathes out a laugh, her nose brushing his, because of _course_ he noticed. “Defense mechanism.”

He flashes her a grin and rubs his thumb across her cheekbone.

“Plus, you are my friend. That doesn’t mean I’m not in love with you,” she says.

“ _Best_ friend.”

“Best friend,” she agrees, grinning.

He closes the small space between them, catching her lips again, briefly.

“C’mon,” he says, taking a step back from her, but tangling their fingers together, “It’s getting dark soon.”

They finish the path around the gardens probably more quickly than they would have otherwise, and Bellamy catches her under another bushel of mistletoe near the exit for sweet kiss that quickly turns heated.

“I’m in love with you too. Just so you know,” he says when they pull apart.

“That’s a relief,” she says, sarcastic, and he shoves her a little before pulling her back, arms wrapping around her waist.

“Have been since you called me an arrogant, pseudo-history buff during that debate.”

A laugh bubbles up her throat and she’s grinning so hard it hurts. “You called me an entitled, misguided princess.”

He cringes a little, “Senior year Bellamy wasn’t great with feelings.”

“Clearly,” she says, tucking herself under his arm as they head out the parking lot, “You have so much more game now.”

“I know you’re making fun of me, but I don’t care,” he shoots back, playing with the ends of her hair, “I got the girl.”

“Yeah. You did.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The museum they visit is the Getty Villa, because /yes/ I saw their posters for the Greek landscapes exhibit and /yes/ I immediately thought of Bellamy.
> 
> This is my life now.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com)!


End file.
